


A Time Unforgotten

by violetpeche



Category: NCT (Band), 威神V | WayV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Center justified, Changing Tenses, Flashbacks, Inspired by American Gods, M/M, Old Gods, Reincarnation, SO MANY TENSE CHANGES, Ten God, Tense inception, ambiguous time period
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:28:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29770008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetpeche/pseuds/violetpeche
Summary: What had been peculiar was the concerned look the keeper had given him after Kun said he saw hints of gold sparkling from the top.“The head of the mountain has been veiled beneath clouds for decades,” the keeper had said. “It belongs to the trees now.”But one altar was still kept in order.“It is the temple of a thousand candles,” they’d said. They claimed not a single flame had stopped flickering since the altar was made.All the more reason Kun had yearned to wander up to its peak.
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Qian Kun
Comments: 7
Kudos: 52





	A Time Unforgotten

**Author's Note:**

> Finally decided to clean up a VERY cluttered/hastily written Twitter thread from over a year ago!! It was written for #KunTenWeek2020, and now a lightly modified and cleaner version will live here! There is so much more I would like for this concept, but this is about as much I can muster out of myself.
> 
> A thank you to Yaya for looking over this before posting!
> 
> Any other glaring errors, I apologize. Please let me know! Otherwise: enjoy.

The last few steps up the mountain were the most difficult. The air was thinner up here, where the white clouds swallowed every inch beyond the five meters Kun could see in front of him.

Kun’s chest heaved with the strain of the hike up the steep incline carved into the side of the last hill. It took him several hours, armed with a small satchel slung over his shoulder with a canister of water, now barren, dried fish, and a switchblade. Even if Kun’s knees weren’t as strong as they used to be, his youthful vitality and stamina remained intact.

Sweat dripped out of every pore in his body, the linen of his shirt clinging onto his torso. Despite the fact Kun felt like his skin had been branded by the sun, a chill ran up his spine when he stopped at the foot of the temple to soak in the sight.

It was enormous—or the ghost of what remained beneath a jungle of overgrown vines, patched with soft tufts of green lichen and moss. The entrance was guarded by two stone tigers on pedestals, at least several meters high, each half hidden behind large, evergreen trees.

A hike up to this temple hadn’t originally been in Kun’s itinerary for his sabbatical at the sleepy village in the valley below, but he’d been curious after spotting a glint of gold at the crest of the mountain. He had asked a shopkeeper in the village he was staying what was up there, and all the keeper could tell him was that only a select few bothered to ascend above the clouds. The terrain was challenging, barely kempt, but allegedly discernable enough.

What had been peculiar was the concerned look the keeper had given him after Kun mentioned he spotted shards of gold glimmering from the peak of the mountain.

“The head of the mountain has been veiled beneath clouds for decades,” the keeper had said, voice firm. “It belongs to the trees now.”

But one altar was still kept in order.

“It is the temple of a thousand candles,” they’d said. They claimed not a single flame had stopped flickering since the altar was made.

All the more reason Kun had yearned to wander up to its peak.

Kun stepped beyond the threshold of the entrance and onto the sacred grounds. Perhaps it was impolite to keep his shoes on, but a blanket of dirt covered most of the cobbled ground that crunched beneath each step. He couldn’t be sure what would emerge from the deserted palace, but its vastness owed to its former opulence. The soles of his shoes echoed against what was left of the exposed stone walls as he peered inside each building he passed.

All of the altars appeared eaten away by time, their offerings long rotted away into cracked bowls and platters, their figurative deities no longer covered in fine pigments of gold, all lustre lost from decades of rain, wind, and snow. Most were now covered in a blue-green patina, red rust, or chewed away by the animals that roamed the surrounding forest. The keeper was right: all had been forgotten, unattended for many years by the likes of it.

As Kun wandered throughout the compound, he felt an invisible string pull at his navel. This feeling in his gut propelled one foot after the other, and his mind fell back into a memory from two weeks prior.

* * *

  
Kun stood on a small ladder in his study, reaching for a dusty volume on one of the highest shelves when his hand happened upon a cigar box.

Kun pulled it down from the corner of the shelf and smiled. “I forgot about you.”

He took the box to his desk and dusted off the top of the box before he sneezed into the crook of his elbow. When he opened it, a pile of memories he hadn't thought about in ages stared back—a stack of letters, telegrams, postcards—their dates stamped back as far as twenty-five years prior.

The letters began after Kun had attended a masquerade ball hosted by a distant relative. Kun had dreaded the evening ahead and quietly prayed for good company to welcome him. His prayers had been answered when he met an elusive young man—the only young bachelor his age in attendance—and Kun never left his side the whole evening.

“Please call me Ten,” the bachelor had said. His feline gaze was riveting behind the eyes of his mask. It had been covered in gold leaf and painted with black tiger stripes.

“Ten,” Kun had repeated the name, just to be sure.

“Yes, like the number.”

“But I thought cats only had nine lives?” Kun had said in jest. He’d felt a smile break over his face as he wondered if Ten had heard this joke before.

Ten had smiled against the lip of his cocktail glass. Kun had watched the olives swirl around the cloud of vermouth. Ten had made a small noise to clear his throat: “Well, Kun—I'm a very special kitten.”

Kun had been entranced by the honeyed tenor of Ten’s voice. He had listened to Ten speak of his travels across the world: from baking under the sun through lands with carpets of sand, to watching auroras burn every color of the rainbow across the northern night sky. It had sounded too good to be true—his stories felt endless, vast, like he had touched every corner of the universe.

Whether they were true or not, Kun had never wanted to stop hearing about them.

“I'd hate for our conversation to end here,” Ten had said at the end of the night.

With their masks long discarded onto a table, Kun couldn't take his eyes off Ten. He was golden with an alluring charm that had Kun by the neck.

Ten had switched from drinking martinis to a red elixir he poured from a flask pulled from his breast pocket. Ten had slid the glass across the table.

“Would you like a drink?” he had offered to Kun.

“What is it?” Kun had studied the glass. It appeared thick, syrupy like nectar that had clung to the sides of the glass.

Ten had smirked. “Oh, just the **Elixir of Life**.”

Kun had hummed. “How'd you manage that?”

“An old favor,” Ten had said through a smile that made Kun dizzy. “I offered my arm, they offered me this.”

“Well, how'd you get your arm back then?”

Ten had laughed behind his hand. “You're full of questions. Just give it a try. Humor me, won't you, handsome?”

Kun had hesitated for a moment—they had only met hours before, but now he had felt he'd known Ten for a lifetime. He had felt reckless with his comfort and picked up the stem of the glass and took a small swig. In spite of its cloying nature, the elixir had burned its way down his throat. Kun had been ignited from within, and he could have sworn he had seen fire in Ten’s eyes.

But Kun never saw Ten again after the masquerade.

Instead, Kun spent years tracing over each letter Ten wrote out to him, in a sprawling, delicate script, or punched into a telegram. The stories of each place Ten traveled to were just as grand as all the ones he relayed to Kun at the ball—times when Ten was nearly lost at sea, how he charmed snakes and swam to the bottom of endless lakes.

He found Ten was in a new corner of the world every time a new message arrived, and ended with the next place he would be found.

Kun made sure to write him back, fervently, desperate to get his response to him as soon as possible lest Ten forgot him.

He wondered if Ten would ever make the journey back to him—to the small manor he ran in the countryside.

And yet, Ten made no intention to venture into Kun's orbit, no matter how many times Kun had offered.

As time went on, the space between their correspondence cleaved further and further apart.

After reconciling with his unhealthy affinity for Ten, a man he had met what eventually felt like a lifetime ago, Kun began to trim replies. His letters grew shorter, and in turn, Ten's did as well.

Kun grew more concerned with his studies. His thirst for knowledge had him line the shelves of his manor with volumes from a variety of subjects. The town bookseller knew to always order a copy for Kun, regardless of the text, as Kun grew to be a reliable customer willing to shelve anything in his home library.

When he unearthed the long lost stack of letters, Kun pulled the last letter he remembered receiving from Ten. It was sent just before Kun moved to the city to further his scholarship—and with much regret, Kun remembered, only decades late, he had never written back.

_I’ve returned,_ the letter began, _to one of my most favorite places. It’s not far from you, either—if I recall. Just a day trip with a brisk walk through the mist. It’s a temple, high on a mountain, and a very old one at that._

_Each day it grows closer to the forest around it. At one time, altars used to be covered in gold, overflowing with flowers, offerings of fresh meats, fruits, and stews to the gods. I like to come here when my loneliness is at its weakest. I know it sounds crazy—to retreat to a decrepit, old shrine of lost gods—but when I am there, I am whole again._

_I feel more alone in a busy world than I do at the shrine. It’s the quietest place I’ve stepped foot on this earth, and nothing brings me more clarity and restoration than returning to my altar, even if nobody else is there to worship._

_The warmth of the candles and the memories I share of my life in this world I have shared with others are enough._

It had been a strange letter—Ten hadn’t elaborated exactly where this temple was, or left him with any substantial clues as to where it was located. No name was mentioned.

* * *

But now, Kun suspected he might have found the place in Ten’s cryptic, final letter after all.

In the center of the temple grounds, cutting through the moss and low-hanging fog, Kun approached the mouth of a modest building covered in a blanket of lichen.

The shape of the building remained: a high, pointed gable at the front, and ten marble columns held up the clay-tiled roof. The entrance glowed, faintly, yellow and orange.

As Kun stepped closer, the yellow and orange illuminated the floor, covered in layers of white, molten wax melted away by thousands of candles on the stone tiles. The walls were covered in glazed crimson and mustard yellow porcelain tiles that shone with the lights on the floor.

Against the back wall, in the center of the room, Kun spotted a reclined figure with its head resting on its hand propped up on an elbow. Kun could see the outline of each fold of fabric carefully carved into the figure, every inch encased in yellow gold.

The figure appeared lifelike, as if it could get up and walk from its perch at any moment.

Its presence felt familiar; Kun’s head spun with déjà vu. Kun blinked once, twice, three times to be sure he wasn't in a trance—

A memory from twenty-five years prior flooded to the forefront of his mind; he could hear the sound of a string quartet, swaying through plumes of incense, and felt a cold glass of champagne sweat in the palm of his hand.

And, there, before him, beneath the mask of a tiger: a prayer answered.

“It can’t be—”

Kun shook his doubts as he inched closer to the altar. How could he forget the soft curve of his hip, the way the tip of his nose curved so elegantly, a presence so majestic after only one meeting—

He looked down at the floor in front of the altar to see a large, golden goblet encrusted with wild, crimson rubies and yellow sapphires. Another step forward showed the bowl was filled half-way, with the candlelight’s dancing across the surface.

To the left of the goblet stood a crystal decanter, half-filled with an opaque, golden liquid.

Kun’s curiosity piqued, and he dropped down to his knees and fell forward on his hands. He hummed, face falling between his shoulders as he stared at the liquid.

Slowly, he brought his face closer to the cup, and started to inhale. He couldn’t smell anything until his mouth hovered close to the edge of the bowl, and there he smelled honey and hibiscus.

He remembered the smell well—from decades before—the night he first met Ten.

A small gust of wind rushed through the entrance of the temple, brushing Kun’s hair from his nape. He shivered as he watched the candles flicker from the corners of his eyes.

“Drink it,” the wind whispered. “Have a taste.”

Kun hesitated.

It was an offering to a deity—not _his_ for the taking.

“Drink it,” the wind urged through behind him once more, this time more insistent as it tugged at the linen on his back.

The candles flickered so low that the shrine became encased in near-total darkness. It frightened Kun, even after the floor illuminated before him.

Kun lowered his face into the bowl of the goblet, the smell getting sweeter, and he decided to flick the tip of his tongue, just a taste. It was thick, syrupy, and the shock of sweetness enraptured his senses.

He lapped at it again, and again, and again, feeding into his own greed for the memory of the night he met Ten. He could taste it at the forefront of his mind, and in every corner of his mouth.

The way Ten had smiled behind his painted mask, the way his eyes had burned beneath the lantern lights, the way his laughter rippled above the swaying violin strings—

“There you are,” a voice called above Kun.

Kun froze once again, let the sound of the honeyed voice send chills down his spine as the sweet hibiscus dripped from his chin and onto the floor. He noticed the droplets turned red with small flecks of gold in them.

He turned his gaze upward, hoping his eyes betrayed him as he watched the gold melt from the reclined figure on the altar.

It was Ten, familiar with his charmed, feline smile that welcomed Kun to his throne.

Kun watched the light of the thousand candle flames sparkle against a stack of golden bracelets on his forearm, the sound of them clanking echoes off the walls.

Kun was paralyzed.

There Ten was, appeared just as the day Kun last saw him. His skin looked as smooth as glass and was as stunning with his hair pulled away from his face by a red silk ribbon. The youthful flesh of Ten’s cheek remained plump with the palm of his hand smashed against it.

It was surreal; Kun wondered if what he drank was poisoned— _why did he listen to the voice of the wind? Surely he was losing his mind_ —

“Ten?” Kun asked, voice feather-light with apprehension. He felt his elbows start to give, but he held himself upright at the altar.

Ten—or who Kun presumed was Ten—stepped down from his perch to waltz over, red, silk robes dragging behind him.

He crouched down before Kun, and gently tipped Kun’s face upward to look at him. His hand was cold against Kun’s chin, but his touch was tender as he brought a thumb to swipe at the last drop that fell from the corner of Kun’s mouth.

Ten stared at him, a gaze that felt so reverent to Kun, when he knew _he_ should have been the one in awe.

Here Kun was much older than when they first met, and even with all the books he absorbed into his mind, he hardly felt much wiser. There was so much about the world he still didn’t understand, but the most puzzling thought was how the memory of Ten he had stowed away in his mind all these years had not aged a single moment from their last encounter.

Ten’s gaze was daring, focused, curious, like he was staring at the end of an abyss. It was comforting. Like a prayer, answered.

Kun felt Ten’s hand tighten beneath his chin. Unflinching, Kun parted his lips and darted out his tongue to lick at the stray drop from Ten’s thumb.

He watched Ten’s eyes soften with a gentle smile as he pressed the tip of his thumb further between Kun’s lips.

“Have you forgotten me already?”

 _Of course not_ , Kun thought, _not in a million years, not in any other lifetime, could I ever forget a face like yours_.

Ten pulled his thumb free from Kun’s mouth with a wet sound that echoed against the walls. He swiped a finger over the curve of Kun’s cheek, the touch delicate but seering, the sensation branding into his skin. Kun never wanted to look away, just stare into Ten’s eyes for eternity.

“And in you, I live another lifetime.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated! Thanks for reading.
> 
> Original Twitter thread can be found [here](https://twitter.com/johntographique/status/1223440091818758146) and is RIFE with typos and mixed up tenses.
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/johntographique) | [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/violetpeche)


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